Come Ye Back
by Golden Boots
Summary: Doyle's not dead! When he returns to the Angel Investigations office, he finds a welcoming committee of the sweetest sort. Set during Season One. USUAL DISCLAIMERS APPLY. The title is taken from a phrase in the Irish song, "Danny Boy". Icon credit: ziggygurl on LiveJournal. RIP the exquisite Glenn Quinn


**Come Ye Back**

"Well, I expected a bit of a fanfare for the homecoming of the lost son but I didn't expect this!" muttered Doyle into Cordelia's hair.

Okay, so that was a bit of a lie. As Doyle had approached the "Angel Investigations" office, he had played out scenarios in his head: shock at his appearance back from the dead, perhaps accompanied by a dropped coffee mug; suspicion, interrogation, 'Are you really who you say you are?'; tears, handclasping, hugs. But not this, this instant enfolding of him in a bearhug. He was sandwiched between Angel and Cordy, and had been for five minutes now as the three stood by the front door in the soft moonlight. He hadn't even had the chance to take off his brown leather jacket.

Turned out The Powers That Be had given them a heads up, told Cordy that his willing self-sacrifice had ultimately saved him. Such a giving spirit was needed on this mortal coil and he would be returned to their loving arms very soon.

Loving arms were the least of it! He inhaled the scent of Cordelia's hair as she stood with her head nestled beneath his chin. It smelled like incense on a zephyr. Its dark strands had a mirror-shine. He rested his face in it.

Behind him, Angel was a towering slab of oak, his strong arms reaching round his partners, ensuring nothing could break this embrace. Ordinarily, Doyle would feel intimidated when loomed over by a larger man but, somehow, that seemed a silly way to go right now. He had never felt so safe. His blarney, however, insisted on rising to the surface. "So, we're going to stand here from now on 'til our knees crumble, is it?" He flicked an eyebrow.

"Something like that." Angel brought down his great head to rest in the crook of Doyle's shoulder. He laid his cheek against his partner's, skin cool and comforting.

Their bodies felt strangely amorphous pressed against Doyle's own. He was used to touching with his hands and mouth when engaged in prolonged body contact. Now he was trying to feel up his companions with the flesh of his torso, through his clothes. He could feel the pressure just below his ribcage of Cordelia's breasts squashed against him. One of her thighs rubbed against his, too. There was pressure on his lad but from what, he didn't know and didn't much care right now.

Angel's crashmat pectorals were an invitation to sink back against him. The vampire's hips were unrestrained – there was no reluctance in the embrace of these two friends – and Doyle could feel all that made him male pressed tight against his behind. Then – what was that? Was that what he thought it was? Suddenly, Angel was more definitively male than he had been before. There was a hard rod pressing into the flesh of his buttocks. Doyle's breath became shallow.

Cordy lifted her face to look up into his, so close to him his eyes were forced to roam far to take in every element. There were streaks on her cheeks where old tears had dried and new ones trembling in her huge brown eyes. "We thought we'd lost you forever," she whispered, mouth wobbling.

"Nah. I'm a bad penny, me." But his soft expression belied his flippant words.

Cordelia reached a hand between them to stroke his face, looking deep into his blue eyes all the while. "So clear," she remarked. "So bright but so _feeling_."

"Your best feature," added Angel. His lips brushed Doyle's neck.

The half-demon Irishman bit his lip. Then something gracious came over him, and he closed his eyes and lowered his head, surrendering himself to the peace. Gentle hands began to pull at his clothing. Doyle allowed himself to be led like a lamb.

His friends made a nest on the office floor from cushions and throws and bunched up clothes. Then they removed his. Angel helped him off with his jacket and went to hang it up while Cordy began to unbutton his bright red shirt. Her fingers came up to trace the neverending edge of its huge lapels, and she smiled a brief smile of exasperation and sadness.

One corner of Doyle's mouth twitched. He knew she had always hated his clothes. Very carefully, she pulled the shirt off his shoulders and let it join the waiting pile on the floor. With an expression akin to reverence, she touched the hair that lived at the base of his throat.

Doyle dipped his head to meet her eyes and give her a reassuring smile. "There's more where that came from," he promised.

"Let's see," said Angel, still behind him. He grasped the bottom of Doyle's white T-shirt and lifted it, Cordy joining in, pushing it up while he pulled. Doyle raised his arms and it was gone in a moment. His pants, briefs, shoes and socks followed. Each patch of bare skin was stroked as it appeared – his belly, thighs, calves, even his toes and the soles of his feet. Then they stood back and appraised him. A beautiful, balanced male body. He had good muscle tone but with enough flesh on top to make him sensuous to the touch. His chest hair was luxuriant, spreading down his belly. Young. Strong. Vulnerable. Something about his recent brush with death – well, _actual_ death – lent him a Saint Sebastian air. When they closed in and began to touch him with intent, it was as if they found every cell of his body precious.

Angel ran his hands up and down his arms while he kissed the back of his shoulders. Cordelia placed her palms on his chest and moved them in circles. Doyle swallowed hard. He was trembling. This was sweeter than anything he'd ever imagined and he'd imagined a lot. He loved Cordelia. It was true. He didn't just fancy the girl – he loved her. And here he was, his naked, true self, waiting for her move. It was a move he knew would come.

Angel and Cordy pressed themselves tight against him once more, rough clothes grazing him and making him quiver.

"He's cold," said Angel.

"He's naked," said Cordy with a twinkle in her eye.

"Indeed, I am," said Doyle, eyes very wide.

"Let's get him under the covers." Angel guided him to the nest on the floor and got him comfortable with a cushion beneath his head. Then he and Cordy took off their own clothes.

There was moonlight from two different sources – just enough illumination to outline their contours, an occasional full beam lighting up individual aspects of their anatomy. Cordelia was as curvaceous as he'd hoped, breasts sitting lower than those of women with less bountiful figures and moving more. She had a length of limb, however, that balanced out the fulsomeness and made her damn near perfect in his eyes.

Angel's body was surprisingly smooth. Moonlight made his creamy skin gleam. Doyle couldn't get over how broad the vampire was – chest, shoulders, belly, thighs. It still didn't scare him, though. It was if it was impossible to believe Angel's flesh could do him harm. His lad he glimpsed only for a moment. It was semi-hard and of a pleasing length, bouncing amiably as the waistband of Angel's briefs caught it as he removed them.

They climbed under the covers to lie with him, adopting the same positions they had by the door except all three now lay on their sides. Cordelia looked radiantly happy, letting her head sink into the cushions, smile wide as she stroked his face. Her fingers ran over and over his right cheekbone then dipped into the hollowed cheek beneath. He had the strangest feeling her expression was the one she would wear when putting a beloved child to bed. He wasn't sure what to do with that!

The young woman shuffled closer and brought her mouth up to meet his. Kissing Cordy again, this time with no countdown ticking away in the background! As their lips met, he closed his eyes, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He held onto her with his mouth, twisting his head so every inch of lip flesh met every inch of hers. He let Cordy be the first to introduce tongue. It flicked tentatively across his lips as if she had never French kissed before and was unsure what his reaction would be. He reached out with his own to reassure her, smiling as those two adventurous organs rolled over each other. He took his time sucking on her bottom lip – that most intriguing feature of her luscious mouth – and at the same time brought his hands up to her breasts, catching them up, feeling their weight. As their kiss deepened, he massaged them, rolling them towards each other and making her cleavage bulge. When they broke their kiss to breathe, he took the opportunity to glance down at his hands' delightful work. He sighed deeply.

Angel's chin rested on the point of his shoulder. While his left hand ruffled lightly through Doyle's short dark hair, he looked down in silence at Cordelia's shadowy globes as they were squeezed and moulded by his partner. After a while, he simply breathed, "Yes."

Doyle looked up into his face and it was not long before the vampire was compelled to meet the expressive eyes of his fellow Irishman. They looked at each other for some time and it seemed neither would make a move. Then Cordelia placed a hand on the back of the neck of each and urged them towards one another. The vampire's shadow fell across Doyle's face. His stomach flipped. It seemed he was tumbling down into darkness. Then there was a spark of connection and the darkness was banished. A strong mouth gently took possession of his, bringing him a whoosh of joy he had never dreamed of.

The woman at their side sighed in contentment at the sight of the two men she loved most exploring their love for one another. She waited until there was a lull in their kiss then brought her own lips into play. Three open mouths pressed together, tongues dabbing, breath mingling. Their faces tingled as the nerves in their lips set every nearby nerve alight. So much softness, so much variety, so much delight.

Cordelia's hand moved south, sweeping down Doyle's chest and stomach, fingertips tickling the delicate, twitching flesh of his lower belly before settling on his prick.

"Is he hard yet?" whispered Angel.

"Oh yes. Very much so."

Doyle moaned as the striking brunette took his hard-on in a light thumb and two fingers hold, and began to move the skin up and down. She was unable to see what she was doing and he felt her fingers moving over him curiously, finding the veins and tracing them. An involuntary whimper escaped his lips.

Angel smiled at the sound, his face still so close to his partner's. "Tantalising, isn't it? So intensely sweet."

Yes, Angel knew the power of teasing. Doyle watched the vampire with a soul bring his fingers to his mouth, wet them then reach down to run them around one of Doyle's pale nipples. The little thing sprang up from its bed of wiry hair and became rosy. As it swelled between Angel's fingers, it was gently pinched.

The slender Irishman shuddered, his head falling back. His strong throat was exposed and Angel latched his lips on it, forging a moist trail along its length, occasionally grazing the skin with his teeth.

Doyle _still_ wasn't afraid!

"Aaaah," said Cordelia as a wetness met her hand. Doyle's stiff lad had trickled a little pre-cum.

"Don't stop, don't ever stop," said their boy, writhing under their many-faceted touch.

"We won't," said Cordelia, "and it's only gonna get better." She began to masturbate him in earnest. He looked into her face with a curious expression, eyebrows rising in the middle of his brow in that plaintive and adorable fashion of Irishmen.

Angel's right hand ran over his hip and thigh while powerful lips sucked on the skin of his neck. And suddenly, there was a new player in the room. Angel was parting Doyle's cheeks and pressing the head of his cold cock against his entrance.

Doyle stiffened and for the first time looked apprehensive.

Sensing his discomfiture, Angel paused. "Have you ever done this before? Have you been with a man before?"

Doyle swallowed, unsure how they would respond to his answer. His eyes flicked towards Cordy. Her expression was entirely pacific. "Yes," he said honestly, "but not for a very long time and only with other demons."

" _Udder_ demons?" cried Cordy, upper lip curling.

" _Other_ demons," said Angel with a smile. "Don't take the mickey out of his accent. I remember how people reacted to my voice when I first came to the U.S."

"Oh, yeah," said Doyle, looking up at him in wonder. "I always forget you're a fellow Irish boy."

Angel cocked a wicked eye at him. "To be sure." Then his smile was replaced by a darker expression as he held Doyle's hips tight and pushed his own towards them.

"Wait! Don't you guys need some lubrication or something?"

"No," said Angel. "It's not like that between supernatural creatures. Our bodies adapt."

It was true. Angel guided his prick into the sweet demon's bowels and pushed until he was up to the hilt. It glided like those insides were made of silk.

Doyle's entire body stiffened again but this time, it was a rigour of pleasure.

However, it was Cordelia who cried out the loudest. She stared into Doyle's face, captivated, while her hand timed her strokes to the vampire's thrusts.

The young man returned her gaze with a pleading expression and she could see the fear in it; the fear that she would be disgusted, that she would think less of him because he was permitting himself to be penetrated by another man.

"Francis," she crooned, laying her palm against his cheek. "Don't ever be afraid. I want to see every emotion it's possible for a man to feel pass through your face. Because you're a fascinating man. I love you."

Doyle gave himself up to the moment. Angel's erection was an icicle inside him yet softer, gentler than that sounds. There were hands everywhere, the big guy's left arm hooking underneath him and clamping across his chest, holding him in a firm embrace. There were sighs and whimpers, too. His own body felt stiff and pliant at the same time, muscles clenched but warm. He writhed against prick and hands and mouths. Every now and then, he opened his eyes and saw what they were seeing: his torso bucking, sheened with sweat; his buttocks rippling as Angel slapped against them; his cock straining in Cordelia's fist (they'd pushed down the covers now). His heart pumped a torrent of blood through his body, and the skin of his throat and chest flushed red. "Jaysus!" he cried. "I think I'm gonna come. Ah, Jaysus, please let me come now!"

Angel and Cordy doubled the speed of their ministrations, the vampire not so much plunging as vibrating inside him; Cordelia thrashing at his poor, tormented lad. Angel's mouth fixed on him just below his right ear while Cordy ran her lips along the underside of his jaw. He just had time to hear Angel hiss, "I wanna feel him come," when his orgasm hit, spurt after spurt ribboning out of him and onto Cordelia's belly. At the same time, Angel's right hand closed around his balls, thumb stroking the underside of his cock, feeling balls tighten as they pushed semen along his shaft. His cock pulsed visibly.

Doyle's body relaxed. He sank back, gasping and sweating. He could feel that Angel had not yet come and had just enough energy to crack open an eye and watch his face.

It was blank. He was avoiding meeting Doyle's eyes as he continued to fuck his arse in a workman-like fashion. For a second, Doyle was confused. Then inspiration hit him. The vampire was so close to knowing perfect happiness he _had_ to switch off. His lips twisted at the poignancy of the moment. It was not long before a few guttural sounds signalled Angel was coming. It was the strangest sensation for Doyle. The vampire's ejaculation was powerful but cold. It felt like a gallon of ice-cream had been poured inside him. He shivered as Angel's movements slowly stilled.

The moon sank below the horizon. His lovers were in shadow now, composed entirely of glints and breath and heated skin.

Cordelia kissed his cheek. "Did you enjoy that, Doyle, our lovely Doyle?"

"Well, I want nothing more in the world than to go to sleep with my head on your shoulder and that's a pretty good indicator that I'm literally shagged out."

She laughed.

He turned his head towards her and his voice was touched with sadness as he said, "Is that it, though? Are we done? One time and one time only, a one-off present for the re-birthday boy?"

Angel slid out from under the covers and headed for the bathroom, scratching his behind as he went. "My crystal ball tells me," he said in his thickest Irish accent, "that the night is young, and much sucking and fucking is still to be had."

"Really?"

"Really," said Cordy, raising her eyebrows. "Especially now I'm satisfied your demon face doesn't pop out when you're excited."

Doyle looked hurt. "Would it bother you all that much?"

She wrinkled her nose. "It's just a little – impractical. For what I had in mind."

"Why," he asked, mock innocent. "What _do_ you have in mind?"

Cordelia's eyes lifted to the ceiling, turned contemplative. "I wonder if that's how the Brachen demon face evolved, as an anti-faceriding device?"

He laughed and caught her up in his arms, rolling her on top of him. "Hopefully, you'll never have to find out."

They giggled together like schoolkids and when the brooding, mysterious vampire returned, his hugs and his laughter were the most generous of all.


End file.
